


Hope and Promises

by Bladespeaker



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Is there angst? Possibly yet I cannot tell?, It's short it's sweet it may give you cavities, May Be Too Sweet to Handle, Post-Living Story LS1/Personal Story, Tea Leaves, This is past what has been written of Traveling Circus so far, Trammander
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:05:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19384651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bladespeaker/pseuds/Bladespeaker
Summary: After the defeat of the Elder Dragon, Zhaitan, Llumin realizes that someone is missing from the Pact's celebrations.  With much on her mind and more on her heart, she goes to find Trahearne.





	Hope and Promises

“Don’t tell me you don’t plan on joining the celebration.”  
              Trahearne shifted his weight, coughing slightly as he leaned behind a stack of parchments and scrolls.  This somehow let him both inspect another paper and avoid the inquisitive gaze of his commander, Llumin.  “The dragon was defeated largely due to your work,” he said.  “It was you who landed the killing blow.  No one will miss me if I stay behind and finish cataloguing some information for the capital cities.”  
              The slender sylvari rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “You do realize that you’re the one who planned most of the invasions at Orr, don’t you?  Without you, we’d never have made it this far.”  
              The Firstborn gave a noncommittal hum, though the purple glow that slowly pulsed through his dark-leaved skin did brighten ever so slightly.  Llumin sighed and walked behind his chair.  She leaned against the rich maple of imported Krytan wood and peered down at him.  
             “Trahearne,” she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, “we’re not rushing against time now.  You can rest.  The Elder Dragon is dead.”   
              He stood silent for a moment before standing abruptly and sending her staggering back in surprise.  The ink-quill lingered in his fingers, held aloft between security and the impending plummet of gravity.  His gaze fastened on the papers at his desk, where horrible, intricate sketches of Zhaitan and its forces writhed on yellowed parchment by scribbled notes. He ran a shaking hand down his face.  
                “ _One_ is dead. One of who knows how many others. Llumin – ”  He paused, opened his mouth, frowned, rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m really not sure how much time we truly have.  Surely, our soldiers have worked hard – they deserve to celebrate.  But I have to prepare for the next dragon.  I cannot stop.  There are too many counting on me to let me rest.”  
              She was silent as he straightened a stack of notes that had gone askew.  “Is that how you pursued your Wyld Hunt?” she finally asked.  “By facing it as an endless promise of doom?”  
              “No.”  He replaced the worn quill in its ink-pot.  “From the beginning, my mission was a mockery.  I was not meant to kill the beast.  I was to cleanse its corrupted land.  Given enough time and dedication, there were some who believed that you could kill an Elder Dragon.  But cleansing its domain?  No-one believed that could ever be done.”  His fingers fiddled absently with the ornate engraving on the scepter at his hip.  “What if… what if even now this is just a dream?  Orr’s soul does live, but it is weak.  What if this fails?  Perhaps some greater force will drive the purification back or corrupt the land again. Llumin, nothing is certain.”  He swallowed, golden glowing eyes burning in the dark shadows.  “We – I – cannot guarantee anything.”  
              The dissonance of the celebration outside clashed with the somber atmosphere within.  After a breath’s pause, she stepped closer to him, taking one of his hands in hers.  Trahearne’s brows rose as she stared intensely at them; her hand was small, the color of sandalwood, his long-fingered and the same dark green as the distant Jade Sea.  She raised her face to stare at him.    
            “I can guarantee some things,” she said softly, her voice steadfast.  “One: You will not fail.  You _have_ not failed.  I saw you at the heart of Orr.  If you had failed, none of us would have seen the life that sprung from its dead heart.  Two:  Despite whatever doubts you or any others have had, you were and are the right man for the job.  Caladbolg only chooses the greatest of hearts, the purest of wills, to use it. To doubt does not make you wrong, Trahearne.  As much as you hate it and as much as you bury it behind all of that wonderful knowledge in that silly head of yours,” she said playfully, raising a finger to tap him on his forehead and coaxing a small smile from him, “it makes you normal. Just like the rest of us who have doubts.”  
              He hummed thoughtfully as he looked down at her and his shoulders relaxed slowly at her soothing words.  “Usually these things come in threes.  What else do you have to tell me?”  
               Her own glow, light lavender in the shaded tent, flushed.  “You should know.”  
              “Remind me, Llumin.”   He gently tilted her face towards his own, gaze searching.  “Please.”  
               Her skin warmed at his touch.  She took a shaking breath, gathering her thoughts and speaking slowly.  “You said earlier in our mission at Augur’s Grotto that star-crossed lovers used to meet there.  Selana told me that I was the only one who you told this.  Of course, then the dragon’s minions attacked, so I didn’t have much time to think of it.”  Her lips curved.  “I don’t know if there was anything in the stars,” she said, “but I can tell you this: You, Firstborn Trahearne, Cleanser of Orr, Wielder of Caladbolg, and Most Unassuming Leader of Ragamuffins, have undoubtedly, indescribably, and truly captured my heart.  As long as we both shall live, know that you have my blade, my body, and my mind at your disposal.  That is my third guarantee.”  She peered up at him with a soft smile.  “I do hope that’s enough for you.”   
               Trahearne felt a warmth blossom in his chest as he returned her gaze.  “Only if you would be willing to accept my own in return, Commander.”  
             She hummed.   “I suppose I could do that.”    
           He laughed.  “You and your lovely heart, Sapling.  Who would have known that our meeting in the Grove would lead us here?”  He bent and pressed a kiss to her lips, gently drawing her closer to him and swaying slightly to the sound of the songs outside. He pulled away after a moment, eyes crinkling.  “I do believe my spirits have been raised.  How do you like the thought of a dance?”  
              Llumin laughed.  “Was that a necromancy pun, Firstborn?  I didn’t think you had it in you.”  She smiled and pulled on his hand, turning towards the light. “Let’s go; the Pact needs to see its leader celebrate before the festivities end – and before Sylfia finishes draining the kegs.”


End file.
